


Before the Storm

by PletroMaximoff



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Pre-Hydra Pietro, Pre-Powers Pietro, Reader-Insert, Self-Insert, Set in Sokovia, precious brown haired Pietro
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-09 14:10:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4351931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PletroMaximoff/pseuds/PletroMaximoff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>aou!Pre-Powered Pietro x reader fic. Takes place in Sokovia.<br/>I heard the lyrics  “You little brown haired, blue eyed, beautiful buzzkill.” and all of a sudden this pre-experimented on/brown haired Pietro fic happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is greatly encouraged! This is pretty different to my other writing aka NO-ONE has powers. This is also the first multi-chapter fic i've written in years, so again feedback is encouraged!  
> (Don't worry, i'm already working on the 5th chapter haha)  
> This chapter is more a set-up than anything, to introduce the environment and what not!

* * *

 

Look after your own. That’s one of the most important rules when you’re part of a protest. Protect your own, and keep them safe, don’t allow the group to be herded and kettled. That’s rule number one.

Which is why you’re beyond confused to see the boy who’s normally at the front of the group, being corralled towards an alley by four American soldiers, and it’s why you’re even more confused that the others who have noticed are turning a blind eye to this.

You push through the last two rows of people until you’re officially out of the crowd and from this angle you can see his face properly. His face says that he knows something awful is about to happen, but he doesn’t know what just that he’s completely resigned to the fact he’s imminently about to find out.

Act casual. Act normal. Act like you’re not disturbing a situation that’s beyond fucked up.

The soldier in front of you moves to mutter something to his friend on his right, and while they’re both laughing, you make your move and dart in through the gap he’s created.

“Lubito! Există ești! Am fost în căutarea pentru tine!” You call out to the man, and bright blue eyes snap to yours as you rush to his side, placing a hand on his chest and curling yourself into his side. You look up at him then look to your right as if you’ve only just noticed the soldier’s presence, schooling your face into one of confusion as you switch to English.

“Ah, sorry! Did I….um?” You trail off uncertainly. “We were just going to the bakery when we got caught up in the crowd. I hope he’s not been causing trouble?”

You’re suddenly glad that its laundry day and you’re wearing a skirt that technically doesn’t fit anymore and is  _way_  too short as the two conversing soldiers both look you up and down, shooting each other pointed looks.

“No, miss. No trouble here. We were merely trying to help you friend here on his way.” The lie makes something cold creep up the back of your neck.

“Boyfriend.” You correct, and your companion finally seems to clue into what’s happening as he slides an arm around your waist, lacing his fingers with yours where your hand hangs at your side. “But thank you for looking after him, fellas. Never know the sorts of people you can run into in crowds like this.”

“Yeah.” The soldier smirks, and locks eyes with you, and you’re suddenly acutely aware all three of his friends are staring at you. “Wrong place, wrong time. That sort of thing.”

You force a smile and tighten your grip on the man’s hand.

“C’mon!” You smile at him brightly. “We’re going to be late!” and with that you’re dragging him through the soldiers and towards the back of the protest.

“Keep your arm around me and keep walking.” You tell him quietly, but the way his arm wraps around you firmer lets you know he’s heard you.

Then there’s warm breath on your ear as he leans in close, an illusion of intimacy to the still watching soldiers.

“Why would you apologise to them?”

“Because that’s the sort of thing they like. You showing them gratitude when they don’t injure you.”

He scoffs at that, but doesn’t say anything.

You walk in silence for a while until you’re out of sight of the soldiers, completely hidden by the angry crowd.

It’s him untangling his fingers from yours snaps you out of your daydream as the cold air hits your now free hand.

He steps back from you and shoves his hands in his jacket pockets.

“Sorry, I just knew I needed to get you out of there. I’m-“

“I know who you are.” He cuts you off, not unkindly. “You’re the girl who works in the bakery, no? My sister speaks of you sometimes. I’m Pietro.”

“Oh! You’re Wanda’s brother?” He raises an eyebrow at you. “Your sister speaks of you sometimes, as well.”

“My sister speaks a lot in general apparently.”

“Don’t worry. You don’t seem as terrible as she makes out.”

That earns you a genuine laugh from him, and you can’t help but notice he has an irritatingly pretty smile when he isn’t scowling.

“Well, that’s something at least.” All of a sudden his face turns serious. “Don’t tell my sister about this.”

“How did  _this_ even happen?” You gesture in the direction of the soldiers.

“I’ve been told I have an attitude.”

“I can see that.”

“It was fine, I had everything under control.” He waves a hand at you dismissively.

“You’re not as good of a liar as you think you are, Maximoff.”

You step forward and prod a finger against his chest.

“These men don’t need an excuse. They don’t see us as people, we’re just angry foreigners to them. Do you hear me? They don’t need an excuse, so don’t give them one.”

He frowns at you, but nods anyway.

When you’re sure he’s understood, you allow your demeanour to soften.

“Well, fake-boyfriend of mine, this is where I must leave you. I’m nearly late for work.” You pat his cheek affectionately. “Try not to get in any more trouble while I’m gone. I won’t be available to save you again until after six.”

You haven’t gone more than 20 feet when you hear him call out after you.

“Hey! Bakery girl!”

You spin back round to face him, and he’s rocking back on his heels, hands in his jeans pockets and a smirk on his face.

He looks you up and down and you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Nice skirt!”

You open your mouth to accept the compliment, then realise what you’re wearing today. You look down at your mostly bare legs, and when you look back up, he’s gone.

Okay. Maybe Wanda  _did_  have a point.


	2. Nearly.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Self raising flour. Sister. Soup. Steps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That title and chapter summary was terrible, i'm just gonna apologise for it right now, i'm sorry.  
> Hope you like this new chapter! Things actually happen in this one!!

* * *

 

It’s less a week later when you next see Pietro, when he strolls into the bakery, list in hand.

“Your sister have you running errands?” You call out as he walks through the door.

“Something like that.” He smiles as he slides the list across the counter.

He ends up hanging around for longer than customers would normally, but it’s a slow day, and you’re thankful for the company on your solo shift.

Then you see him again. And again. And again. And suddenly you realise that whilst you’ve been enjoying the conversation Pietro provides, you haven’t seen Wanda in over two weeks.

This time, you spot him before he spots you. He’s outside the bakery, playing with the dog that often sits outside.

The bell above the door jingles when you open it and Pietro looks up at you like a child being caught doing something they shouldn’t.

“Uh, hi.” He laughs awkwardly from where’s he’s hunched over in front of the mutt.

“Hi yourself.” You reply, sitting down on the lip of the pavement, the dog trotting over to you, butting his head into your hand. “I see you’ve met Marco.”

“He’s your dog?” Pietro queries, sitting down next to you, scratching behind Marco’s ear.

“Not really. More like the shop dog? He just shows up most days. He’s followed me home a fair few times, and I tend to like the men I share beds with to have names, so he became Marco.”

Pietro’s hand stills on the dogs fur, and you snort out a laugh.

“That was a joke.” You nudge him gently in the ribs, and he nods. “I’ve gotta know their name before they get through the front door, I’d never let them get _all_ the way upstairs.”

Pietro rolls his eyes and throws a stick for Marco, watching him take off across the cobblestones.

* * *

 

It’s the next day when you’re straining to reach for a jar off of the top shelf when the shop bell chimes behind you.

“Just a second!” You call out, fingertips nudging at the jar as you succeed in only pushing it further away from yourself.

There’s footsteps behind you, and before you can even make a noise of surprise, the person has the entire length of their body pressed against your back, and a gentle hand on your hip.

“Here, let me.” Pietro’s voice is quiet and low in your ear as he leans over you to grab the jar. He hooks his chin over your shoulder as he takes the jar from the shelf and holds it in front of you.

“This what you wanted?”

You open your mouth to answer, but your brain is still stuck on the sudden realisation of just how broad and tall Pietro actually is, so instead you nod and take the jar from him.

He steps back, but remains close enough to still be in your personal space.

“Hi.” He grins.

“Hello, Pietro.” And it comes out more like a breath than words. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon.”

“Ah, well. I’ve been sent here actually, by my sister.”

“Is that not what the last two weeks have been?” You smirk at him, stepping around him and shooing him back to the other side of the counter.

He tilts his head to the side and makes a pained face, and you take pity on him.

“Okay, what’s this mission in relation to?”

He lets out a breath, placing both his hands on the counter.

“Wanda found out about the soldiers.”

“Hey.” You hold your hands up in a peaceful gesture. “I didn’t tell her.”

“Didn’t say that you did. My sister has ways of knowing things that I do not, and will never, understand.” He makes a face again. “I had to tell her the whole story, and now she wants to invite you round for dinner tonight, to thank you.”

“Oh.”

“I mean, you don’t have to! We just thought it’d be nice? We don’t get to socialise much, and Wanda likes you a lot, and I mean I guess you _did_ help me.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks back onto his heels. “Besides, I’ve been told I make a mean fisherman’s soup.”

“Oh really? And who’s told you that?” You smirk at him.

“Well….” He trails off uncertainly. “I mean nobody has _told_ me. But I absolutely do make a good fisherman’s soup.”

“Well in that case, I can’t really refuse can I? What time should I get there?”

“7pm, maybe? Do you need the address?”

“No, I remember where it is, I made a delivery there once. Do you want me to bring anything?”

“Just yourself!” He pauses thoughtfully, before pressing a finger to the glass of the cabinet. “And maybe some of that salt and pepper bloom that Wanda likes?”

“You mean the one she more or less buys me out of every week?”

“That’s the one.”

“Deal.”

* * *

 

Its 6:44pm when Pietro opens the door for you, and the smell of food hits you immediately.

“Hey! You’re early!” He smiles brightly at you, stepping aside to let you in.

“Sorry, I thought it’d take me longer to walk here. I didn’t realise how close you lived to me.” You reply as you slip off your coat. Pietro takes it from you and hangs it on the railing of the stairs, and beckons for you to follow him down the hallway.

“Oh! Wait! I almost forgot!” You say as you spin back around to rummage through your coat pocket. “I have something for you!”

Pietro scoffs in exasperation and folds his arms.

“You’re insufferable! We invited you round as a thank you, and you bring gifts?”

You take the object out from your coat and hold it out towards him, biting your lip to stop the laughter at the confusion that overtakes his face.

“You got me….a tennis ball?” He raises as eyebrow at you, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I figured, considering how much time you’ve spent with him already, I would officially give you the key to Marco’s heart so your friendship can blossom to its fullest potential.” You laugh, holding it out to him.

Pietro laughs loudly and takes it from you, setting it down on the small table at the bottom of the stairs.

“Both me and Marco thank you for your generosity. You’ll have to hang out with us sometime. You never know, you might have fun.” He grins at you, walking further into the apartment towards the kitchen. “C’mon, Wanda will want to say hi, and I have to check on the soup.”

* * *

 

“So where have you been Wanda? It’s been strange not seeing you in the bakery regularly anymore.” You ask across the table, tearing yourself a new piece of bread.

“I’m not quite sure. I was about to leave the other week and this one here,” and Pietro reacts as if his sister has kicked him under the table (and judging by the way the twins interact, she probably did.) “came home insisting we rewrite the chore and errand split as he didn’t think it was fair. He decided apparently I was better suited to buying the vegetables.”

“That’s not _quite_ how it worked, Wanda.”

“Pietro, you are absolutely the one who insisted you could do the bakery runs from now on.”

“What? No, I didn’t!” He protests, dropping his spoon with a clatter, the tips of his ears turning pink. “I said, if it would help. I didn’t _insist._ ”

“Brother, you practically begged me to let you take over buying bread. It was strange, just admit it.”

Pietro picks up his spoon again and mutter something under his breath you can’t quite catch.

Wanda looks at her brother with a raised eyebrow, then turns her gaze to you. Her eyes widen and ducks her head as she snorts with laughter, but doesn’t say anything more, instead turning the conversation towards your work in the bakery.

It takes ten minutes for Pietro’s face to return to its normal colour.

* * *

“I’d feel much better if you let me walk you home.” Pietro states, watching you put your coat on.

“Pietro, no. It’s fine. It’s freezing outside anyway, you stay here. I’ll be fine.” You protest, fixing your hair over the collar of your coat.

“For once, my brother is right.” Wanda says suddenly, hovering at the doorway. “What happened to him was not the first instance, and it won’t be the last. It’d make me feel better as well, knowing you weren’t walking alone in the dark, especially with you living so close to the bar.”

“What day is it?” You reply, frowning to yourself, as both twins shoot your perplexed looks.

“Thursday, why?” Pietro replies, confusion lacing his voice.

“Oh.” You laugh nervously. “Yeah, okay, you can walk me home then if you don’t mind.”

* * *

“Why the sudden day related change of heart?” Pietro asks, hands shoved deep in his pockets as you both step out into the cold nights air.

“Weeeell.” You drag the word out, linking your arm through Pietro’s. “Wednesday’s and Thursday’s seem to be the official drinking days for the star spangled assholes, and I always hear them shouting. I won’t lie it does make me uneasy.”

“You obviously don’t need me to protect you, and this isn’t what this is about by the way. I just don’t like the idea of anyone walking around here on their own, especially after dark."

"It's okay, Pietro. I get it."

You walk in silence for a little while, and your chest swells slightly with the way he tugs you closer when you pass a group heading for the edge of town.

"You were right, by the way."

"About what?"

"You do make a mean Fishermans soup."

He laughs loudly at that and leans in closer to you as you walk, an action you readily match.

"Does that mean I can officially tell people this without the authenticity of my statement being questioned?"

You pretend to think carefully about the idea, looking up at him with your face screwed up in faux thoughtfulness.

"I suppose so." You finally relent, with a roll of your eyes.

You steer the both of you down the final side street before stopping underneath the ever flickering lamppost outside your building.

“So, this is my place.”

“Oh, wow. I didn’t realise you lived so close. When you said a 25 minute walk, I expected…well. A 25 minute walk.”

You roll your eyes, unhooking your arm from his and jumping up onto the second step outside the building.

“So, I’m no good at time estimation. Sue me.”

“A baker with a lousy sense of time estimation? Ooft. I might need to take my business elsewhere.” He grins up at you, and you can’t help but grin back, before turning serious.

“No, but seriously, thank you for inviting me tonight. I don’t really get invited out much, and it was nice to be able to get to talk to you in an environment that didn’t involve soldiers or self-rising flour. It was nice. I had a really nice time tonight.”

Pietro smiles at you softly and moves up to the step below you. Suddenly he’s so close you can feel his body heat radiating from him. The height difference between you means he’s directly level with you, and you can’t help but notice his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips.

“Yeah. Me too.”

There’s a beat, and then he’s leaning in closer to you and then-

The metal gate behind you scrapes loudly on the concrete floor as its shoved open, and your neighbour Sonia walks out of the building in a party dress, wobbling slightly, followed by two women in similar attire.

“Hey!” Her voice is bright and friendly (and ever so slightly slurred). “We were knocking on your door forever, I didn’t realise you were out! Do you want to come out with us tonight?”

“Oh! Not tonight, maybe next week?” You smile at her, and when you turn back around, Pietro has retreated to the bottom of the steps; his cheeks flushed pink.

“Hey! So, I better get going, I’ll see you around?” He kicks at a loose stone, looking everywhere but your face, making you frown.

“Hey, no, you don’t have to g-“

“It’s fine. It’s getting late, and Wanda will be getting worried.” He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and then he’s gone.

You watch his rapidly retreating form with a furrowed brow, and disappointment heavy in the pit of your stomach.

“He’s cute.” Sonia giggles from beside you, nudging you in the ribs.

“Yeah.” And you can’t help but smile. “Yeah, he is.”


	3. Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter changed a lot over the course of writing it. Things that were going to go in here, have ended up in chapter four, and things that were in chapter four are now in here! but! it’s finished! and here it is! This part is about 2.8k, for those that are curious. As always, honestly getting comments genuinely makes my day and I appreciate them all so so much.  
> Hope you guys like this chapter! :)

* * *

 

Pietro Maximoff is a lot of things. Constantly surprising you is at the top of that list.

You’ve fallen into a comfortable pattern over the last few months, spending a large portion of your spare time with the Maximoff twins. You often meet up with Wanda at the café she worked at, timing up your lunch breaks together. Sometimes Pietro would join you. Even from across the table you can feel the guilt radiating from him when Wanda picks up the tab for his food. One bad day at work and an overly frustrated Pietro later, he’d been sent packing from his job at the small construction site. Everybody in town knows that the company has been struggling financially, and the work is likely to remain unfinished, like everything else in town. He wasn’t the only person to lose his job, but Pietro can’t see the wood for the trees and regardless of what you and Wanda tell him, refuses to believe this loss of income was anything other than his fault.

Instead Pietro spends most of his days on the picket line, when he’s not asking around town for work. Your boss eventually lets him pick up a couple of hours here and there at the bakery for a reduced rate, and as many as unsellable seconds as you can carry.

It turns out Pietro is utterly useless at baking, so instead you let him serve the customers, which he’s fantastic at, if only because he reminds nearly every single one of your elderly customer of their grandson.

You’ve fell into a comfortable friendship with them both, and you couldn’t be more thankful.

But Pietro Maximoff is a lot of things. Constantly confusing you is number two on that list.

* * *

 

You’re leaning on the railing of your balcony, finishing a cigarette when you spot him. Darkness is beginning to settle over the town and the glow of the shop fronts begin to fade as one by one the owners close up for the night.

There’s two children huddled up together on the steps of the church, and you watch as Pietro walks out of the deli with a small paper bag. He seems to notice them as he steps underneath a streetlamp, and even from here you can see his face soften. He looks between the children and the direction of his and Wanda’s apartment before he makes his decision.

It’s the boy who spots him first, and he’s at his feet immediately stepping in front of his sister in a way you’d recognise anywhere, and you realise with a pang that these children are twins. Pietro kneels down in front of them and holds out the bag with a smile, nodding at the boy to take it. The boy looks at his sister, who nods, then immediately snatches the bag.

It’s the girl who opens the bag, and her face blooms into wonder as she pulls out two sandwiches and bottles of water. She sets them down immediately and jumps to her feet, rummaging in the pocket of her cardigan before holding out a small smattering out coins to Pietro. You see him shake his head and curl her hand back around the money. He says something to her as he stands back up, and she curls herself around his leg, hugging it tightly. Her brother gathers up the food and shoves it back in the bag, grabbing for his sisters hand. Then Pietro ruffles the boy’s hair and watches as they both scuttle away. You watch as Pietro slips his now empty hands into his pockets, and sets himself on a path that will take him right underneath your balcony. You watch him walk, back hunched up and you prickle with sympathy at how hard it’s been lately. Not just for him, but for everyone. You turn around to look at the top shelf of your standalone pantry, and are pleased to see the two full bottles of wine, and 3 quarts of whisky that are still leftover from your last payday. As Pietro walks underneath your balcony, you make a decision.

“Hey, trouble!” You call down to him when he’s close enough to hear and see you. His ears prick up as he looks around, before he looks up and steps back to see better, before his eyes settle on you and his face splits into a grin.

“Says you!” He calls back, laughter in his voice.

“and here I was thinking you were the same guy who puts on utterly charming displays with the shop dog, but I mean if you’re going to  _insult_  me.” You shoot him a soft smile, stubbing out the cigarette on the chipped metal of the railing.

“What can I say?” He replies with a one shouldered shrug. “I’m a charming guy!”

“Oh yeah? Prove it!”

He grins wider, and places a hand dramatically on his chest, gesturing towards you with the other.

“It is my lady, oh, it is my love!” He cries, trying to stifle his laughter. “Oh, that she knew she were!”

You laugh loudly, before schooling your face into a serious expression.

“Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?!”

“Neither, fair saint!” Pietro calls back, and he’s struggling to contain his laughter. “If either thee dislike!”

“Okay, Romeo. You got me. You wanna come up here for a little while?”

“What’s in it for me?”

“The pleasure of my company, of course. I’ve got some smokes and a bottle of whiskey, if that sweetens the deal for you.”

“How do I know you’re not going to poison me?”

“This apartment is a dagger free zone, and you know me, I’m all about sticking to the details, so you’re safe for tonight.”

“Well, there’s not exactly any vines around that I can climb.” Pietro spreads his arms out wide, looking around in mock confusion.

“Oh shut up and buzz number 17, before our families show up and protest.” You laugh, pushing yourself off of the railing and back into the apartment.

* * *

 

You’re over halfway through the bottle when the serious conversations start. You’ve dragging your armchairs over to the balcony where the doors are flung wide open, to combat the sticky night time air. Your feet are draped in Pietro’s lap, as you swirl your tumbler of whiskey around, staring at the amber liquid thoughtfully.

“Don’t think too hard, liquor is pretty flammable.”

You look away from your drink to glare at him as he takes a swig from his glass. You go to kick him gently in the gut, but he catches your foot before you make contact, laying them back in his lap, skimming his thumb back and forth across your ankle bone.

“What happened to the nice charming guy I saw giving his food away to children?” You grumble, snuggling lower into your chair. His hand stills and you look up to see him staring at you.

“You saw that?”

The look on his face makes you feel like you shouldn’t have said anything, but you shoot him a soft smile.

“Yeah. They were twins, right?”

He frowns at that, and tilts his head thoughtfully.

“How’d you know that?”

You shrug your shoulder half-heartedly.

“Just something about the way they were, it reminded me of you and Wanda, that’s all.”

His lips quirk into an almost smile, and he takes a gulp from his glass.

“What about you? You’re being pretty quiet over there.” You murmur. “You okay?”

He shakes his head minutely, frowning slightly.

“No, it’s nothing.”

“It’s obviously something.”

You tilt your head and watch as he becomes solely interested in his glass.

You pull back your legs and stand up, walking over to stand in front of him. When he looks up at you, you clamber into his lap before he can protest. You take the glass from him, knocking back the amber liquid in one gulp, before leaning over to set the empty glass on the table behind him.

“There. No distractions.”

“You don’t consider you climbing into my lap a distraction?” He quips, raising an eyebrow at you, arm moving to curl lazily around you waist.

It’s not the first time you’ve been affectionate like this before. There’s been arms draped casually over yours and Wanda’s shoulders as you all walk through town together. There’s been gentle hands on your hips that linger just that second too long as he squeezes past you in work. There’s been tangled fingers and arms either side of your waist on the barrier so he doesn’t lose you in the crowd when you’ve joined him on the picket line. There’s been nights been spent drinking at the twins apartment with Pietro leaning heavily against your side, legs dangling off of the edge of the sofa. There’s been that one time he brought you your favourite sandwich from the deli when he arrived for his shift, earning himself a kiss on the cheek, and giving you the satisfaction of making him blush.

But this feels different. There’s no Wanda, no crowd, no customers. Just you, Pietro, and your beat-up armchair.

You slide a hand up to the back of his neck tangling softly in the baby fine hairs there, tilting his head to make him look at you.

“Don’t deflect. Tell me what you’re thinking.” You whisper.

He seems to mull it over for a moment, then let’s out a breath.

“If you could help this country, would you?” He murmurs quietly. “Make it stable, I mean.”

You frown at him, not expecting the conversation to have this sort of agenda.

“What do you mean?”

He lets out a loud exhale and slumps down further into the chair, making you wobble slightly on his lap before his hand darts out to grab at your thigh, stopping you from falling.

“Do you ever feel like you’re not enough?”

“Yeah.”

His head snaps up at that, and his eyes meet yours. You stare at him, and he stares back. He must find something in the weight of your gaze as he looks away quickly, gazing out of the window.

“God, I don’t know.” He groans, rubbing at his eye with the heel of his hand. “These men were at the picket today and they were talking about…I don’t even know  _what_  they were talking about, what they were offering. Some people went with them; Felix and Ionela? Tereza went too.”

“Pietro that….” You trail off with a frown. “That doesn’t sound right.”

“I know!” He groans again, and throws his head back, staring up at the ceiling. “But, I don’t know. I just want to feel important. To feel needed.”

He sighs, throwing an arm over his eyes.

“Sorry.” His voice is muffled from behind the sleeve of his shirt. “We were having fun, and I kind of ruined it.”

You’re not sure if it’s the whiskey or the wine that fuels your next decision. Maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s the way he looks in the dim light of your apartment, the length of his neck and the broadness of his shoulders. Maybe it’s the way his fingertips are tracing tiny patterns on your upper thigh. Whatever it is, you’re already talking before you can stop yourself, and you still don’t know how it’s happening.

“We can still have fun.” You murmur softly.

He must hear something in your voice as Pietro moves his arm, and lifts his head back up to look at you with a frown.

“Hey, what are you doing?” He laughs softly as you shift on top of him, straddling his lap and hooking your arms behind your neck.

“Like I said, we can still have fun tonight.” You reply.

Your proximity means you can feel the breath catch in his throat as he looks at you, your fingers toying gently in his hair at the nape of his neck.

“What do you mean by fun?” He murmurs, and he’s so close you can feel the air warm around you with your intermingled breath.

“What do you think I mean?”

“I’m not sure, that’s why I asked.” He retorts, hooking a thumb into your back belt loop and sliding a hand into your back pocket to try and steady you as you wobble slightly in his lap.

“Maybe I can just show you what I mean instead.” You mumble, leaning forwards and pressing your lips to the underside of his jaw, eliciting a sharp exhale from him.

“No, c’mon.” He laughs, but his hand remains firmly in your back pocket. “You’re drunk.”

“and I still have all my faculties, thank you very much.” You murmur, pressing open mouthed kisses down the column of his throat.

You slide a hand down between your legs, drawing a gasp from Pietro when you curl your hand around him through the denim of his jeans.

“Yeah, you’re definitely drunk.” He lets out a strained laugh as his hips stutter upwards into your palm, his hand splaying out in your pocket and pulling you closer.

“So are you.” You giggle, sluggish fingers fumbling with his belt buckle, unable to unfasten it. “Oh come on, is this a fucking chastity belt?!”

His hand slides down to cover yours, and you look up at him to find bright blue eyes staring you down.

“We’re both very  _very_  drunk.” His voice is serious, but not without warmth. “And this is not a very good idea right now, fata mea frumoasă.”

“Not a good idea right now, or a good idea in general?”

His lack of answer is all you need for your burst of confidence to shatter and dissipate like smoke in the wind.

You try to raise yourself higher on your knees, but the last of the wine seems to hit you at that point and you wobble uncertainly on the softness of the chair.

“How did I end up with philosophical and sensible drunk Pietro, and not fun drunk Pietro?” You huff, sinking back down to curl up against his chest.

“I feel like somewhere fun drunk Pietro is probably asking the same question.”

* * *

 

There’s a dog barking outside of your window, and your eyes crack open and you immediately regret it as blinding sunshine streams freely into your room. You look up at the window through bleary eyes and realise you forgot to draw the curtains last night, and the apartment is bathed in a warm yellow glow.

You still haven’t gotten round to changing the batteries in your alarm clock but you can sense it in your bones that it’s an unforgivably early hour.

As you lift your head off of your pillow, you’re suddenly aware that it is absolutely not a pillow you’re lying on, nor is this your bedroom. The cool air on the back of your neck has you twisting your head to see that not only are the curtains still wide open, but so are your balcony doors. Pietro is still sleeping beneath you, as you lift your head from his chest and assess the situation. You’re lying completely on top of him, and he has one arm around your hips, and his other hand firmly tucked behind your knee. It’s when you try to push yourself off of him that you become aware your left hand is curled around his belt buckle, fingertips dipped beneath the waistband of his jeans.

You’re suddenly so thankful for the amount of stray dogs that inhabit this city.

You slide your hand off of his belt, accidentally scratching at his stomach with your fingernails. His hand knocks against your hip as it darts out suddenly to grab at yours, and you freeze. He makes a soft noise, shifting his hips slightly and turning his head to burrow his nose into your forearm that’s resting on his shoulder, still fast asleep.

You let out a sigh of relief and peek over Pietro’s shoulder to the clock hanging on the wall of your kitchenette. You weigh up your options, looking from your bedroom door and then back to Pietro.

As you settle back down against his chest, you tell yourself a couple more hours can’t hurt.

Neither of you had talked about what happened on the steps outside your building that night, but you catch him sometimes, looking at you when he thinks you’re suitably distracted, and he looks like how you feel. Like the words try and escape you sometimes when he laughs, and you nearly bare your soul to him at 2pm in the bakery over freshly baked red onion rolls. Like when Anca comes in for her order on Wednesdays and talks his ear off about how her granddaughter would be perfect for him, and he nods politely, but rolling his eyes at you when Anca turns away to choose her pastry of the day.

He looks at you like you’re the sun, but he’s petrified of being burnt.

So you’ll lay here, curled up close to him, aware that this might be all you ever get.

A couple more hours can’t hurt.


	4. Closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This originally was going to be a tiny little ~filler~ chapter just so the gap between this and what was supposed to be chapter four wasn’t so drastic. But I had a lot of fun with this expanding the universe a little bit so let me know what you guys thing about me fleshing out the story in the way that I do in this chapter, because if you’d prefer the sort of stuff that’s been in previous chapters then I think this story will possibly end at around the 6th chapter mark. So yeah, lemme know! :)

* * *

 

You’re not quite sure how the picket line got so out of hand today, but you remember is something being launched from the crowd at the soldiers and the next thing you know is Tomas going down with the crackle of a taser, and the sting of the cold from the water hoses is burning through to your bones. Pietro’s grip on your hand is painful as his fingernails dig into the back of your hand, but you barely notice as your lungs burn and the stitch in your side is near overwhelming as you and Pietro sprint up the darkened street.

You have no idea where Wanda went, but the clomping of combat boots not far behind you doesn’t give you time to think about it either. You’re both absolutely drenched through, and the rain feels almost warm in comparison as you twist and weave down the side streets.

You’re more aware of Pietro’s hand slipping from yours than you are of your shoe sliding on the slick cobblestones beneath your feet. You stumble and as soon as your hands separate, you feels yourself slow down. Pietro looks back at you in panic, but you call out to him as you regain your footing.

“Go! I’m fine! Keep running, I’m right behind you!”

Pietro skids around the corner ahead of you and disappears from sight. You’re no more than 10 seconds behind him, and you don’t even have time to register the street you’re now on is completely deserted before a hand darts out from your left and you let out a yelp as someone grabs at your wrist, dragging you into a darkened alleyway.

Pietro crowds you against the wall, hands clutching at your upper arms as he flattens himself against you, hiding you both in the shadows. Your ear is pressed against his chest, and you can hear his heartbeat going at a mile a minute.

He slides his hands up to cup your face and the contact makes you shiver.

“Hey.” He whispers, tilting your head up to look you in the eyes. “You okay?”

You nod frantically, and wrap your hands around his wrists, desperate for something to ground you.

“We need to find Wanda.”

He nods, and looks out to the end of the alleyway.

“She can take care of herself, I know. But I don’t like this, this isn’t just crowd dispersal, this is something else.”

You slide your arms around him inside of his unzipped hoodie, attempting to cocoon yourself away from the rain and cold, but you’re both so oversaturated it does nothing to help.

You hear the shouting of soldiers and the clomp of boots and they can’t be more than 25ft away, and you let out a whimper before you can stop yourself. Pietro’s eyes widen and he slides a hand over your mouth, nuzzling his cheek against yours in apology.

You both look to the end of the alleyway and a group of soldiers sprint past, and you can’t help but notice the black uniforms instead of khaki, the red circle with an unfamiliar symbol instead of the American flag, and weapons that definitely aren’t just tasers.

The sounds of their footsteps soon fade away in the thunderous downpour and you let out a shaky gasp of relief.

Pietro looks at you through his overgrown fringe that is plastered to his forehead, moving his hand from your mouth and pushing his hair off of his face.

“I’m sorry for getting you into this.” He murmurs.

“I was spending my days on that picket line way before I met you, Maximoff.” You mutter, and he huffs out a short laugh.

He presses a kiss to the high curve of your cheekbone, and then presses his forehead against yours.

You stare at each other for a second, and you watch as his eyes flutter shut and the warm breath on your face is a stark contrast to the freezing cold rain.

“I don’t think this is  _quite_  the time for that, do you?” Wanda hisses as she appears out of nowhere, grabbing at your hands and dragging you after her, Pietro hot on your heels.

“Time for what?” Pietro gasps as you all break into a sprint back in the direction of town. “We weren’t doing anything!”

Even through the rain you can hear Wanda’s snort of derision, although laced with affection.

“Of course not,  _brother._ ”

You follow her red jacket through the darkness like a beacon, Pietro’s hand grasped firmly in yours the whole way back.

* * *

 

The twins live nearer to the edge of town than you, and your tangled thoughts mean you end up following the twins home before you even realise what you’ve done.

As soon as you’re through the door, Pietro is slamming it shut behind you, locking it, deadbolting it, securing the safety chain and jamming a broken dining chair underneath the handle for good measure.

The look you give him must be obvious as he shucks off his jacket, and toes off his completely ruined shoes.

“I told you, something doesn’t feel right, it just seems like a good idea to make sure right now.”

You hear the slamming of the bolt on the back door as well, and Wanda walks back into the kitchen, and you suddenly feel like you could slump to the floor in pure relief.

Instead you march over to Wanda and pull her into a bone crushing hug. She lets out a soft ‘ _oh!’_  in surprise, before she hugs you back just as fiercely.

“I’m so sorry, we didn’t mean to leave you, I was trying to find you but then we were soaked in water and then there were  _tasing_  people, and everywhere was just so wet and Pietro dragged me away, and I couldn’t find you, I’m so  _sorry._ ”

“It’s okay.” She soothes. “I got pushed out of the crowd when they first brought out the hoses, and I knew you were with Pi, so I knew you’d both be okay.”

She takes one arm from around you and then Pietro is sliding into the open space, wrapping an arm tightly around you, and pressing kisses to the side of his sister’s head.

You all stand there for what feels like an age, arms wound around each other, rainwater dripping from your clothes and staining the wooden floor.

It’s when the wind coming in from underneath the front door becomes too much on your icy water soaked bodies that Wanda untangles herself from you both, and begins the clean-up.

The three of you end up sitting in silence on the couch, jackets long abandoned in the bathtub, and towels desperately trying to squeeze the water out of your hair.

Finally, it’s Wanda who breaks the silence.

“I know what you’re thinking, but you can’t go home tonight, not with the weather like this. Not with…not with the  _town_  like this.”

Her hand curl around yours, and you don’t even have the energy to argue this time around, instead you just lean against her side and close your eyes.

* * *

 

It’s gone midnight and you can’t help but think about how you thought your first time in Pietro Maximoff’s bed would be under very different circumstances.

And he’d at least be in it with you.

Pietro is curled up on the wooden floor of his bedroom, an understuffed cushion beneath his head and a thin blanket that he’s way too tall for.

He’d refused point blank to let you sleep on the floor, and the sofa in the twin’s apartment was barely cushioned enough to sit on, much less lie on, so he’d offered up his bed, and a pair of fleece lined sweatpants, whilst Wanda has managed to dig out a spare sleep shirt of hers for you.

You draw the covers around you closer, but the howling wind sneaks through gaps in the windowpanes, and the cold from the water earlier hasn’t quite shifted from your bones. You roll back over, facing away from the wall and you can’t help the chattering of your teeth.

“Hey.” Pietro’s voice cuts through the pitch black of the room. “Are you okay?”

He sits up on the floor and with the moonlight shining through the threadbare curtains, you can finally make out his face in the dim glow.

“I’m f-fine.” You mumble. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I wasn’t asleep anyway. You’re not fine, you’re shaking. Are you cold?”

“You probably can’t see me right now, but I hope you know I’m glaring at you.”

He makes a quiet  _‘tssk´_  sound, and the floorboards creak underneath him, and then there’s the gentle weight of a blanket on top of yours.

“Pietro, I’m not taking your blanket. I didn’t even want to take your bed.” You whisper.

“Why are you whispering?” He laughs quietly as he sits on the edge of the bed.

“Because it’s dark?” You whisper again, before laughing at yourself and raising your voice. “I don’t know.”

“You’re obviously colder than me, take the blanket, its fine.”

It’s one of those instances where you’re not even aware of what you’re saying until you’ve already said it, and the blush is already creeping up the back of your neck before you’ve even finished your sentence.

“You could always join me.”

“Huh?” Pietro’s voice sounds more disbelieving that confused.

“I’m freezing cold, you’re like a walking talking furnace. I don’t want to take your blanket, I feel guilty about you sleeping on your own bedroom floor. Body heat is greatly shared, and there’s room in the bed.”

There’s silence for a moment, and it’s long enough to make your cheeks flush hot as you realise you may have overstepped onto the wrong side of the comfortable flirting you and Pietro enjoy.

Your fears are alleviated though, when he speaks again.

“I don’t think….I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything. You can have my blanket, its fine.”

“Don’t argue with me, Maximoff, or I’ll make you work the opening shift with me.”

“But…” He whines softly.

“Pietro.” You cut him off, nudging at his leg with yours. “Considering some of my previous actions, I think it’s pretty obvious I don’t feel uncomfortable being in close proximity with you.”

Pietro inhales sharply, and the room goes deathly quiet.

Neither of you still haven’t talked about what happened in your apartment, and while part of you had hoped he hadn’t remembered it, you can tell in the way he looks at you that he remembers it as clear as day.

“Pietro.” You murmur softly. “Just come to bed.”

He lets out a breath and stands up, and then the mattress dips beside you as he throws back the covers, and climbs in next to you.

You reach out for him as soon as he climbs under the covers, surprised when your fingers touch bare skin.

“How the hell are you shirtless, it’s like 2 degrees in this room.” You mumble, snuggling yourself against his chest. His hands hover uncertainly above you, before he slides one underneath your shared pillow, and the other around your waist.

“Like you said, walking talking furnace.”

You hum noncommittedly, pressing yourself closer to him, relishing in the heat radiating from him.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He murmurs softly.

You let out a breath against him, and he shivers, shifting you both further under the blankets.

“I don’t know.”

“Okay.”

He hooks an arm underneath yours and drags you further up the bed, as he wriggles further down. He buries his face into the curve of your neck and tangles your legs together. You can’t help but snort out a laugh, but it doesn’t take more than 20 seconds to realise how uncomfortable the position is. You both shuffle about awkwardly in an attempt to find a position that’s comfortable for the both of you in the cramped single bed.

You finally end up with your head tucked up against his shoulder, one hand resting gently above his heart and his fingertips peeking out from beneath the pillow, grazing gently at your back.

The last thing you’re aware of before you finally succumb to sleep is the soothing motion of Pietro’s thumb sweeping along the curve of your hip, and the soft press of his lips in your hair, and for the first time in a long time you fall asleep feeling a perfect combination of things.

Safe, warm, and happy.


	5. Thunderstorms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter this entire story was born from. This was the original idea that I had, and I ended up creating a universe and back story around it. I've actually been working on this chapter long before I started chapter one, hence why this chapter is a wonderfully meaty 5.5k words.  
> So yeah, lemme know what you think!
> 
> This story was recently reported for plagiarism (?!) and I received an email saying that I needed to cite “Ghosts, Old and New” by Mozart over at lunaescence as inspiration, despite the fact i've never heard of the website on which it's hosted, much less read this story. The email I got from ao3 had no subject header and a strange email address so it went to my junk and I spent about 6 hours trying to decide if it was a real email or not. I was unsure on how to reply to the email because of this to argue my case, so I'm just doing what i'm told so this doesn't get deleted just because me and another (very good, i have now learnt!) fic writer had the same ideas lol. But everyone should go check that fic out, as it's quite lovely!

* * *

Thunder rumbles ominously across the sky, loud and overpowering, the rain beating down heavily on your windows.

It’s a truly miserable night, and your mood isn’t helped by the fact you’d had a miserable day either. You’re still not sure how you’ve allowed one awful customer shouting at you to have you feeling so down, but it’s happened, and here you are with an obscenely cheap bottle of wine feeling lonely.

The atmosphere in the town has been changing, and tensions are high. More and more people have begun to disappear. Some of the names Pietro lists them for you after a day within the protest crowds, others it’s the missing person posters that go up around town. There’s whispers about the castle up in the hill, and of doctors and scientists and so many things that don’t make sense, so you try not to think about it.

It’s been weeks since the storm and the soldiers and yet you and Pietro are still floating stagnant. You’d hoped the affection he’d shown that night would have sparked something, anything. Instead, in the daylight, it was as if nothing has happened, and you’re back where you started. With Pietro shooting you longing looks across the bakery counter, and shying away when you showed affection.

You’re finishing up a glass of wine and thinking of pouring another when something inside you snaps. You don’t know what it is, and you don’t know why it happens, but suddenly you’re sick to death of waiting and dancing around.

You’re dialling the number before you’re even aware what you’re doing, and its Wanda’s greeting on the other end of the line that snaps you back into reality.

“Hey! Wanda!” You trail off uncertainly, before quickly regathering yourself. “Sorry, I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No, not at all!” The fondness in her voice makes a warmth bloom in your chest, and you become acutely aware it’s been well over a week since you last saw her. “I was just about to turn in. Were you wanting Pietro?”

Your face flushes red at her choice of words and for a split second you panic that she somehow knows why you’re calling.

“Uh, yeah! Is he still awake?” You manage to squeak out.

Wanda snorts out a laugh, and you hear her move away from the phone to shout for her brother.

“Of course he is, when does he ever sleep?” She laughs. “Okay, he’s here now, and he’s looking at me impatiently…now he’s bouncing from one foot to the other…now he’s glaring at me. So, hey! How’s your day been?”

You hear Wanda yelp in amusement and there’s a series of scrabbling sounds as a fight breaks out over control of the phone.

You can’t help but grin at the few muffled words you catch as Wanda tries to keep talking to you.

“Brother, stop! Anyway, how was work? Please tell me you’ve been baking more of the salt and pepper bloom I like.” You can hear the loud creak of their third stair as Wanda steps onto higher ground to escape her brother.

You hear the phone drop to the floor and Wanda’s voice teasing something about “ _girlfriend.”_

Your grin dissolves into giggles as you hear a vaguely loud noise which you identify as Pietro launching something down the hallway at Wanda.

“Did you just throw Marco’s tennis ball at your sister, _Pietro!”_  You scold him down the line as you hear him finally gain control of the handset.

“What? No, of course not! That was…..it was. It was just thunder you heard.”

 _“It wasn’t thunder!”_ You hear Wanda yell from their kitchen.

“I’m more inclined to believe your sister, if I’m honest.”

“Did you call just to scold me?” He laughs.

“I actually didn’t, but I am excellent multitasker.”

“Okay. So, why did you call?”

“Uh, well.” You pause uncertainly, acutely aware how badly wrong everything could go in the next instant.

“Yes?” He prompts, and you can almost hear his foot tapping against the floor.

“I was wondering if you wanted to come over?” and you wince as your voice gets higher in pitch the further into the question you get.

“You want me to come over? It’s gone nearly midnight.” and you can hear the frown in his voice. “If you’re scared of the storm, I can come get you and walk you back here? Wanda’s made papanași earlier, I know it’s your favourite.”

“No, I meant you come over here.”

“What’s the difference?”

“There’s nobody else here.”

“What? Did you and Wanda have an argument or…” He trails off sounding nonplussed.

“When I asked you what you meant, about if it was a good idea. You never answered me.”

There’s a beat as the cogs turn in Pietro’s head and you can tell the exact second he realises what you mean.

“ _Oh._ ”

“Yeah.”

“Have you been drinking?”

“No!” and Pietro can hear the pout in your voice over the phone. “Okay, maybe I had a glass of wine to get the courage to make this phone call, but that’s it.”

“You opened the good wine I got you for your birthday for _this?_ ”

“No! Of course not! I bought the cheapest wine I could for this!” You bite your lip, before plowing onwards because _fuck it_ , you’ve already said enough. “I figured we could open the good wine afterwards.”

Pietro swears under his breath in his mother tongue, his brain too muddled to keep up with your light hearted common language, scoffs loudly, and then the dial tone is ringing in your ear.

You look at the phone as if it’s playing tricks on you, as if Pietro didn’t hang up on you. Embarrassment creeps up the back of your neck at his outright rejection, and you’re suddenly ridiculously glad you bought the full bottle of wine. You throw it down on to the table and reach for your glass, draining it in one smooth gulp.

Then the phone rings, and it’s barely began the second chime when you’re answering it, and you don’t even have time to say anything before the hushed tones of Pietro’s voice are in your ear.

“Is this a joke? Are you making fun of me?” and Pietro sounds breathless. You can picture him in your head sat on the bottom step, leg jiggling insistently as he runs a hand through his hair.

“No.”

“Did you mean it?”

“Yes.”

“Say it again.”

“I want you to come over.”

When he doesn’t respond, you push on, eradicating all chance of any misunderstands.

“I want you to come over here, and I want you to kiss me. I want you to touch me, and I want you to _show_ me how _good_ of an idea this is.”

Pietro makes a strangled noise on the other end of the phone, and you can’t stop the small feeling of pride for having that sort of effect on him.

“Do you understand why I don’t want to come over to your place now?”

“Yes, I think I got it now.” There’s a pause, and a scrabbling noise on the other end of the line. “I’m on my way.” And then the line goes dead.

You take the phone away from your ear as it beeps insistently in your ear. You stare at it for a second, completely shocked that your plan actually _worked_. Your plan worked, and Pietro is on his way over.

Your eyes widen at the realisation. Pietro is on his way over.

You jab at the end call button, wrenching open your dresser drawer and darting into the bathroom to change. By the time you’ve changed into a bra and underwear that’s a little less grey and a lot more lacy that what you had on before and fixed your hair, it’s been nearly 4 minutes since he hung up the phone. You throw your tank top and sleep shorts back on, fixing your hair in the mirror, before darting back out of the bathroom, throwing yourself across the bed and wrenching open your desk drawer.

You’re finishing up your reapplication of eyeliner when something heavy falls against your door, followed by a rapid succession of knocks ( _4-5-6-7-8-9-)_ and you look at your watch to see you only put the phone down 6 or 7 minutes ago.

Your stomach drops as scenarios run through your head. Sonia knocking insistently because she’s about to barge in wanting advice because Andrei hasn’t called her again. The strange old woman from down the hall who has Jesus on the cross on her front door, and she’s here to scold you about the situation you’ve just tried to set up. The knocking continues and gets more insistent ( _13-14-15-16_ - _okay_!) as you cross the room and you pull at your shorts uncomfortably as you turn the handle.But when you open the door, it’s none of the mood killing, scenario ruining things you imagined. Instead you’re greeted with the sight of Pietro absolutely dripping wet, one arm leaning against your door frame as he attempts to get his breath back. The second hand on your watch ticks over and the eighth minute begins.

“What the…” You open and close your mouth a couple of times in incredulousness. “Did you _sprint_ here?!”

He doesn’t reply, only stares at you wide-eyed as you drag him into your apartment.

“You’re gonna catch your death like this, Pietro.” You scold him, making to push his sopping wet jacket off of his shoulders, but stopping when you see the bag in his hand.

“Did you….is that Wanda’s _papanași_?” You laugh incredulously, and he looks at your bashfully, eyes just about visible from where his overgrown fringe is plastered to his forehead.

“There may or may not be some _gogoși_ in there too. The fruit was about to go bad, so obviously Wanda made jam, and _then_ baking happens and you know what Wanda is like once she starts at something and-“ You cut off his babbling with a single finger pressed against his lips as you take the bag from his hands, and he flushes pink beneath your fingers as you place it on the table next to you.

“That’s good.” You murmur, pushing his jacket off of his shoulders and onto the floor with a soft thump, before locking your eyes with his. “It’ll go well with the wine later.”

Then there’s gentle hands cupping your face as Pietro surges forward and finally presses his lips to yours. Your back hits the wall, and Pietro presses himself flush against you, grabbing at your thigh and hitching your leg against his hip.

Your fingers tangle in his hair pulling him closer as he kisses you open mouthed and eager. Your noses are crushed together at an uncomfortable angle, but you’re so caught up in the fact you’re _finally_ kissing him, neither of you bother to correct it.

It’s Pietro who pulls away first, immediately peppering your faces with gentle kisses, before trailing down your neck, nipping at your pulse point.

“Good thing I already know your name, huh?” You choke out with a breathy laugh.

He snorts out a laugh into the crook of your neck, and just like that the tension is broken, and you’re both laughing. You let your leg slide down his until both of your feet are back on solid ground as Pietro lifts his head up to look at you

“Hi.” He whispers.

“Hi.” You murmur, pushing his fringe away from his face.

He kisses you again, slower this time, a thumb skimming gently over your cheekbone. When you nip gently at his bottom lip, he smiles against your mouth, arms tightening low around your waist.

He steps away from you slightly and the chill on your body makes you look down. The rainwater saturated in Pietro’s clothes has soaked through to your thin pyjamas, your shirt completely see-through.

“Look at that.” You murmur, looking up at him with a smirk. “You’ve got me all wet.”

Pietro’s expressions darkens immediately, and before you can even blink, you’re pressed up against the wall again, feet completely off of the ground. Pietro has one hand in your hair and one on your ass as he kisses you deeply. You lock your legs around his hips and his other hand gravitates towards your ass as he steps away from the wall.

He stumbles slightly as he walks you across the room, kicking off his shoes, and you giggle against his mouth.

“Y’know, stopping kissing me and opening your eyes might make this whole thing a bit easier.”

“Both of those sound like terrible ideas.” He mumbles, pressing insistent kisses against your lips, coaxing your mouth open and sliding his tongue against yours.

You can’t help the loud gasp you make when he drops you onto your bed, but he’s clambering on top of you instantly, pressing you firmly against the mattress.

He slides his hands up your torso, pushing your shirt up, groaning in displeasure when it gets stuck underneath your arms.

“Impatient.” You hum, pushing him back slightly to pull it off over your head.

He grins when you throw the offending article off to the side, lowering himself back on top of you, and cupping at your breast.

“I like this.” He murmurs, skimming a thumb along the lace of your bra. “This for me?”

“No, Pi. I often wear expensive looking lacy blue underwear underneath my pyjamas.”

He breathes out a laugh, nudging his nose against yours and pressing an off-centre kiss to your mouth.

“Do the bottoms match, hmm?”

“Why don’t you find out?”

He makes to pull at your shorts, and you bat at his hand.

“But first; why don’t you even the playing field, huh?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

He leans back far enough to pull off his shirt and throw it to the side haphazardly as you unclasp your bra and slide it down your arms. He stares at you wide eyed when you allow it to drop off of your finger and join his shirt on the floor and then he’s back on top of you immediately, pressing himself close nuzzling his cheek against yours as he leans down to murmur in your ear.

“Say it again. I wanna hear you say it.”

He leans back to watch your face as you process his words, and when you smile softly at him, he can’t help but smile back.

You bring a hand up to his cheek, skimming your thumb across his cheekbone softly. You pull him closer to you gently to nuzzle your nose against his.

“I want you to kiss me.” You murmur against his lips, making him wait a few seconds before allowing him to press your lips together.

His hands are gentle on your waist as you skim a path up his arms with your hands, settling on the broad plains of his shoulder blades.

“I want you to touch me.” You murmur, feeling his hand slide down to curl around the curve of your ass, pulling you closer to him.

He’s pressing kisses to the side of your face as you slide one hand into the back of his hair, tugging gently until your mouth is at his ear.

“and I want…” You whisper, nipping at his earlobe, dragging your bare leg up the outside of his until it’s hitched tight against his hip. “I want you to _fuck_ me.”

He groans loud and low into your ear, rolling his hips against yours, making you gasp. You can feel the exact second that Pietro decides enough time has been wasted, and the hand he shoves inside your underwear cements that knowledge.

Your hips jerk forward automatically, and you clap a hand over your mouth to muffle what would have been an embarrassingly loud moan.

Pietro tuts at you affectionately, peeling your fingers away from your mouth.

“I wanna hear you, wanna hear all the pretty sounds you make.” He coos, pushing your hair back off of your face.

You nod at him frantically as his fingers circle around your hole, scrabbling to turn both of your hands to the task of returning the gesture.

“It’s not a chastity one this time, don’t worry.” He smirks as you fiddle with his belt. Your hands still as you realise what he’s referring to and you instantly feel your cheeks flood with colour. You can’t help but feel amazed at yourself and the fact you have a man’s hand on your cunt, and it’s his words that make your face redden.

“Didn’t think you remembered _that_.” You choke out the last word as he slides two fingers inside of you.

“I don’t think I could ever be drunk enough to not remember a beautiful girl doing _that._ ” He murmurs, curling his fingers, making you buck further into his hand.

You make a soft _‘aha!’_ noise as you undo his belt, and he snorts out a laugh. You can’t help the whine you make when he removes his hand to shuck down his jeans and underwear, kicking them both to the bottom of the bed.

He looks back up at you from where you’re splayed out on the bed, chest heaving as you slide down your shorts. You hook your fingers into your underwear but he slides his hands up your thighs stopping you and settling between your legs.

“Knew it.” He smirks, pressing a kiss against your underwear. “But as pretty as these are, they’re gonna have to go.”

“You’re acting like that wasn’t the plan when I picked up the phone twenty five minutes ago.” You gasp, as he helps pull the offending item down your legs.

“Then why did you bother putting them on at all?”

“Good things come to those who wait.” You quip, stroking a hand through his sodden hair.

“and those who run through thunderstorms apparently.” He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your bare hip, crawling back up the bed.

“Yeah, well. You already kept me waiting long enough.”

He stops completely to look at you then, and the look in his eyes and the way he cups your face, kissing you softly sends a pang through your heart.

“Yeah.” He breathes, pressing his forehead to yours and nodding. “Yeah, I have.”

He tangles one hand in your hair as he kisses you again, and the other disappears between your legs. His arm knocks against your inner thigh, and as you pull away to ask him what he’s doing, he slides himself inside of you. His mouth drops open in a gasp, and you can’t help the feeling of satisfaction that swells in your chest at getting that kind of reaction from him. It takes you a minute to adjust to being so full, after such a long dry spell, and you can’t help the ridiculous thought that Pietro’s sometimes arrogant attitude suddenly makes a lot more sense. Apparently you can’t help vocalising the thought either.

You’ve never seen someone looks so smug and self-satisfied at the use of the word “big” before.

All it takes is a roll of your hips to reassure him you’re okay, and Pietro starts to move.

Logically, it wasn’t surprising that Pietro’s mannerisms crossed over into his bedroom activities. For as long as you’ve known him, you’ve never seen him sit still once. He’s constantly fidgeting, jiggling a leg or bouncing about on the heels of his feet, like his body is constantly trying to turn off unspent energy that it doesn’t know what to do with.

So you’re not surprised he’d approached the task of fucking you the same way. What does surprise you is the fact he’s obviously found his niche in where that unspent energy is now used as he presses you against the mattress, and the completely unbroken pace he’s kept up for the past three and a half minutes is surreal. All you can do is twist your fingers into his hair and cry out loudly as he presses himself deep inside of you again and again at a pace so fast you can barely fathom it. He’s thick and hot inside of you, and the closeness is utterly overwhelming as he fucks in and out of you. You press your face into the juncture of his neck, and you can’t help but relax at the comforting scent of his cologne from the point at which it’s strongest.

“Sure you’re keeping up?” He smirks into your shoulder when he feels your legs loosen from around his hips, soothing his words with an affectionate kiss.

“Pretty sure I’ve been in the lead up until now, champ.” You gasp out, but you can’t help but laugh.

“I don’t think getting frisky after wine counts as winning.” He teases, before letting out a breath of your name when you roll your hips and tug at his hair.

“No, but that does.” You smirk against his cheek, nipping gently at his earlobe.

“Insufferable, absolutely insufferable.” He groans.

 “Is that why you like me so much? See a lot of yourself in me?”

“There’s definitely a lot of me insi-“

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Pietro, or I am kicking you out of my bed right this second.” You slap at his side as he’s chuckling into your shoulder.

“Touchy touchy, prințesă.”

“C’mon.” You whine breathily, and it turns into a choked off cry when his fingers find your clit.

“Pietro, c’mon. I’m not made of fucking _glass._ ” You grit out. “Just fuck me.”

It’s apparently the permission he’s been waiting for as he immediately grabs at your thigh, hitching it higher pushing it back towards your chest. He hooks your leg over his shoulder, opening you up wider, and resumes his absolutely inhuman pace. The new angle has you crying out his name embarrassingly loudly, and he has the absolute nerve to smirk at you.

In hindsight, how quickly and how loudly you come makes your cheeks flush red. But all you can think of in the moment is how long you’ve both been building up to this, not just tonight, but since forever. How the whole thing has been months in the making, and the way he looks at you, and cries your name out equally as loud. It makes the week of teasing from Sonia, and disapproving looks from the building absolutely worth it in the end.

You come first, clenching around his cock and his thrusts stutter as he loses his rhythm as he comes inside of you, letting out a slew of words in his mother tongue that you don’t understand, and probably still wouldn’t have understood if you were fluent.

You cling to him as he breathes heavily where he has his face pressed into your cleavage.

“Oh, fuck.” Pietro gasps, his voice hoarse as he tries to catch his breath. “ _Fuck._ ”

“Yeah. Yeah we did.”

He snorts out a laugh, and the actions makes your entire ribcage vibrate, making you giggle.

“ _Yeah,_ we did.” He echoes triumphantly, leaving a trail of kisses from the top of your cleavage until he reaches your mouth.

“If you’re going to act like a teenage boy, I regret this already.” You groan, flicking at his ear lazily as he lets your leg drop from his shoulder.

He presses firm kiss to your lips before pulling out and letting himself fall onto the bed next to you, legs tangled with yours, plumping up the pillow as if to settle in for the night.

You take a moment to get your breath back, closing your legs and dropping your head to the side to look at him.

“You’re not sleeping in my bed with gross rainwater hair, c’mon.” You nudge at him, rolling over to climb off the bed.

“ _Am_ I sleeping in your bed?”

You freeze, and feel your stomach drop as you realise you’ve probably completely misread the situation. In less than a second your brain goes into overdrive and flashes with images of tender kisses and soft touches you’d mistaken for intimacy and affection, but were clearly just another part of Pietro’s charming personality, and oh my god, you’ve just seduced your best friend and he just thought it was sex and fuck-fuck- _fuck_.

Except when you turn back around to face him, he’s not smirking like the cat who got the cream like the image of Pietro your head has just created. Instead he’s gnawing at his lip nervously, looking up at you with hopeful, but uncertain, eyes.

“Did you…did you think I didn’t want you to?” You frown, your voice incredulous.

He looks away bashfully, ducking his head.

“Well I mean you did phone me inviting me round for sex. Those types of things generally don’t end up with cuddling and staying the night, do they?”

“We first met when I stopped four soldiers beating the shit out of you, I don’t think we’re about doing things normally.”

“You enjoy painting me as the damsel in distress way too often.” He complains, batting at your arm in annoyance.

“Of course I do.” You grin, booping his nose affectionately. “It’s why I keep you around.”

“Where are you going?” Pietro frowns, as you roll out of bed and pull on his still vaguely damp t-shirt.

“To clean up. Also, now that I’ve had my main course, and you brought dessert, I’m getting dessert. If you’d care to join me.” You smirk, swinging on the doorframe and out of sight.

* * *

 

You’re pottering around the kitchen having just popped a gogosi into your mouth when arms slide around your waist.

“Was I not sweet enough for you?” Pietro murmurs, swaying your hips side to side and making you laugh.

When he leans down to press a kiss to the curve of your shoulder, you hiss quietly as his cold wet hair touches your neck.

“C’mere.” You mutter, grabbing at a clean dish towel, and throwing it at him as you move over to the kitchen counter.

He huffs unhappily at the loss of contact, but scrubs at his hair with the towel regardless.

You’re uncorking the wine when he plasters himself against you again.

“That the bottle I bought?”

You hum out your affirmation and he smiles against your shoulder blade.

“Don’t smile yet.” You tease. “If it’s no good, this whole thing has been ruined and I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”

He barks out a laugh, before sliding one hand down to squeeze your ass

“Is now a bad time to make a joke about our job and your buns.” He quips.

“You know what? Forget the wine, you just ruined it anyway.”

In an instant you’re being spun round and placed on the counter as Pietro steps in between your legs. You tug at the front of your shirt quickly, covering yourself and he raises an eyebrow as he grabs the bottle.

“You act like I haven’t just done a lot more than _see_ it.” He laughs, pouring out your wine.

“Says the person wearing underwear.” You grumble, taking the glass from him.

He looks at you expectantly as you take a sip of the wine.

You squint your eyes in faux thought, before taking a large gulp.

“You can stay.” You declare, patting him on the cheek with mock patronisation.

He rolls his eyes before taking a swig from his own glass, and making a smug face.

“I am good.”

“Arrogant is what you are.”

“and now you know it’s not unjustified. You even said so yourself.” He raises an eyebrow, grabbing a gogosi from the bag next to your hip and shoving it in his mouth, his voice muffled around the snack as he imitates you, letting out a breathy moan. “Ooh! Pietro, so _big.”_

“You’re an asshole.” You mutter darkly, swatting at his shoulder as your face turns scarlet.

“Thought I was arrogant?”

“That too.” You agree, before pinching at his cheek gently, your voice teasing. “Hmmm, my arrogant little freedom fighter.”

He smiles, but then his face shifts into something else.

“Six went today. At the line I mean. Six people went with those people today.”

You can feel your face fall as you realise your misstep.

He stares at the wall behind you, and shakes his head slightly, and you know exactly what he’s thinking.

“Sorry.” He stutters out. “I didn’t mea-“

“Who’s the last world leader you heard of having done anything like that?” You interrupt, pressing a firm finger to the centre of his chest.

He frowns at you, and you roll your eyes, setting down your glass next to you.

“Listen to me. You don’t need to become a lab rat to help this country. No-one in history has ever relied on anything like that to help their nation. They helped their country by being the person they were born as. No strange soldiers, no castles in the hills.”

You cup his face and make him look you in the eye, sweeping your thumbs gently beneath his eyes.

“ _You_ are important to Wanda, you’re important to the people in this town. You’re important to those children you gave their food to, you’re important to Marco, you’re important to Sonia and her mother when you help them with their shopping. When you give your bakery seconds to Piotr’s children, you’re important to them. And god, you’re _so_ important to me. Pietro Maximoff, you have been important since the day you were born.”

He looks at you with glassy eyes and the pain in your back as you hunch over to press your forehead against his is worth is for how tenderly he kisses you, and it speaks more of his appreciation than words ever could.

“You are important, and you don’t need scalpels or serums or _fuck knows what_ to be that, because you already are. You’re _so_ important.”

He nods, covering your hands with his own as he kisses you back fiercely.

“C’mon.” You murmur softly against his lips. “Back to bed?”

He nods again and lifts you back off of the counter, letting you lead him back across the room by the hand, pushing him down against the mattress.

“Blanket?” He asks quietly when you’re both laying down.

You let out a quiet whine at the mere idea considering the close heat of the apartment from the weather and your previous activities. You sit up slightly to pull off Pietro’s shirt, throwing it back on the floor where you found it.

When you curl up next to him, his hands gravitate to your newly exposed skin, pulling you close to him, your chest against his. His thumb skims over the curve of your bare hip as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. How sleepy you feel seems to amplify the obviousness of how tense Pietro feels curled up against you. You can feel the buzz of energy underneath his skin, and when you tug his head away from your skin, his eyes are wide open and alert.

When you push at his shoulder, he rolls onto his back without protest. His hands grasp at your hips when you slide on top of him and lower yourself onto him. He looks at you through hooded lids as you move on top of him. His grip on you is gentle, and his moans match the tempo as you lean down to kiss him, your arms cradling his head. When you lock eyes with him you realise you’ve been wrong this whole time.

He doesn’t stare at you like you’re the sun and he’s burning up. He looks at you like you’re the constellations and the stars and the moons that guide him, and he can’t believe he’s been allowed to witness a sight like this with his own two eyes.

“It’s okay.” You whisper, pressing barely there kisses over his face. “Slow is good too, sometimes.”

He nods his head frantically at you as you sink back down, gasping into his mouth.

“Slow is _great._ ” He grits out, as you sit back up on top of him.

“C’mon, sweetheart.” You croon softly, swivelling your hips.

He sweeps your hair back over your shoulders, revealing your breasts to him. His gaze darts between your face and your chest as he jerks underneath you as you move your hips faster.

You can’t help the feeling of satisfaction it gives you when he bucks up into you, holding you down solidly on his cock as he comes. You have to peel his fingers off of your hips with your own with a chuckle, and you can’t help when he grins at you lazily, looking utterly pleased with himself.

You slide off of him into the cradle of his waiting arm, a thigh slung over his hip. His arm tightens around you pulling you flush against his side, and even with the humidity of the room, you relish in the contact.

You’re nearly asleep when he speaks.

“The best.” Pietro murmurs, and if it wasn’t for his wide-eyed gaze, you’d think you’d imagined it.

“Mmmm?” You hum quietly.

“We’re the _best_ idea.”


End file.
